Interview with the President
by LadyChakotay
Summary: My first BSG fanfic. In the spirit of Interview with the Vampire, I, as a civilian in the fleet, begin a series of interviews with the president. The first of some scenes we DON'T get to see, as told to me by Laura Roslin, of course.
1. Chapter 1

**Interview with the President**

_Ms. Kris Hill,_

_I'm wondering if you would be free to meet with_

_me tomorrow, say 0900 on Galacica? This is a request,_

_not a summons, and it is regarding a personal matter._

_You are not obligated in any way, but I hope that you're_

_free and that I'll see you then._

_ Laura Roslin_

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous.

And see, this **thing** happens to me when I'm nervous. Particularly around especially important or attractive people. My brain blurts out thoughts, sort of like a one woman Madame Apropos of Nothing comedy act of naughty one-liners. And a fair share of them make their way from my brain and actually escape via my big mouth.

I have red hair. Naturally red hair and the entire attitude that goes with it. Does that pretty much explain it?

So if I tried to tell you that being summoned to Mt. Olympus by Madame President of the Twelve Colonies, Ms. Laura Roslin Herself didn't make me nervous and create the opportunity for oh so many shoes to plant themselves firmly in my mouth, then I'd be Queen of Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire Land.

In fact, I was pretty sure that if I didn't cease my anxious habit of tapping my fingernails on my hardback notebook RIGHT THE FRAK NOW Racetrack was going to leave her Raptor without a pilot long enough to come back and break each one of my fingers. Before strangling me to death.

As if hearing her name in my thoughts, Racetrack shot me an annoyed glance over her shoulder. "I'll have you standing on Galactica's hangar deck in a few minutes, Ms. Hill."

_Ms. Hill._ What am I, her granny's old tea buddy or something? "It's Kris," I repeated. "Please call me Kris."

Her raised eyebrows clearly said _whatever, lady_. "Yeah, okay. Well sit tight, _Kris_. We're cleared to land."

Happy to get out of Racetrack's way before she could kill me, I took the outstretched hand that was offered without even looking and stepped down from the Raptor. It wasn't until I heard the rumbling voice say, "Welcome to Galactica, Ms. Hill," that I realized said hand belonged to The Man Himself.

"Aa … Admiral Adama?"

I only hoped I didn't look as brainless and stunned as I sounded. Of course, that was stupid of me.

He smiled as he politely extricated his rather large hand from my grip. I hadn't even realized I was still holding onto him, let alone with both hands. So much for not looking like a moron.

"Wow! Admiral! It's … your hands are …" Gods, somebody SLAP me! "Uh … hello."

"You look a little overwhelmed," he said kindly to the poor retarded girl he'd just helped off the Raptor. "Never been on Galactica before?"

_Never been on an Admiral before,_ I said, on the _inside_.

Of course I'd been on Galactica. Hadn't everyone in this ragtag fleet been here for one reason or another? Little prod from Doc Cottle here. Little poke from a handsome Viper pilot there… A girl's gotta live a little during an apocalypse, right?

I'd just never met the Admiral face to unbelievably handsome face before. My Gods, the man was hot! "Yes, sir. During the exodus from New Caprica and other times for, you know, medical treatment and such. I just never expected … " _To want to rip your clothes off right here on the hangar bay and spank you till you call me Mama_. "… a personal welcome from Admiral Adama himself."

Now that I thought about it, why was he greeting me personally? I glanced around at the armed Marines. A nervous little knot grew in my tummy. I dunno, something about this whole war and all the bloody death had made me paranoid. I started counting guns and stopped laughing.

Then I did that thing I do. You know, where I say things. Out loud. "First a summons to Galactica from President Roslin, and now an escort from the Admiral of the Fleet. It's almost like you think I'm a …"

I stopped myself before blurting out the word clyon, but it hung there nonetheless. Suddenly I really wanted to be anywhere else, and sorta wondered if I had one red strobing eye popping out of my forehead. A nervous laugh escaped my lips as I searched the Admiral's eyes almost desperately. "Madame President's not waiting for me in an airlock, is she?" I said, sort of joking. Mostly not.

Racetrack smiled wickedly.

"Okay, that started out as a joke," I said, laughing because Racetrack made me want to cry. "But now I really wanna know. She's not, is she?"

To his credit, the Admiral's sense of humor was apparently as well developed as his biceps. (Yowza!) He chuckled deep in his throat. "No, she's in one of the ready rooms, but I guess that'll seem anticlimactic now."

"Somehow I doubt that," I said, falling into step behind him and trying desperately to ignore the big men with big guns following behind us. I'd never met the President face to face either, but knew she was a force to be reckoned with. If she were half as impressive in person as Adama was then I knew I was in for one hell of a meeting.

"Do you have any idea why you're here, Ms. Hill?" Adama asked, snapping my attention back to the moment. And drawing my eyes, which had been firmly fixed on his ass, back to his face.

Gods, how I hated being called Ms. Hill, it has such a spinster ring to it. "It's Kris, sir."

"Pardon?"

"My name," I said. "Please call me Kris." When he looked slightly confused I shrugged, "It's a thing…"

He nodded. "A thing. Is that like an issue?"

"Exactly. And honestly? No, I have no idea why I'm here. The earlier airlock joke notwithstanding."

He chuckled again, a low and sexy sound like rocks rumbling. "Kris, huh? I take it you're not much for formalities or titles, yet you keep calling me 'sir'."

"I'm all about respect where it's due and titles are fine. But Ms. Hill is not my title, nor does it make me feel particularly respected. It simply makes me feel old."

He stopped walking long enough to smile down at me and I couldn't help but smile back. Amazed yet again at how powerfully handsome he is. "You should try being the one everyone refers to as The Old Man," he grinned.

I laughed. "It's a term of endearment, sir. Your people … they don't serve you because they have to. They serve you because they respect and genuinely _feel_ for you. They love you."

Adama stopped walking so abruptly that I nearly slammed right into him, which – under other circumstances – would've been fine by me. But the expression on his face, so serious as his eyes bore into mine, made me almost shiver with certainty that my big mouth had once again gotten me into trouble and that I had spoken way out of turn.

"You're a civilian," he said, barely above a whisper. "How could you possibly know something like that?"

Wondering secretly if a person can get airlocked for simply pissing the admiral off, I decided to just be honest with the man. "I watch people." When he only continued to stare at me I elaborated.

"Everyone's so busy trying to stay alive, to fight another day. Me? I'm along for the ride. I'm a writer, sir. I'm not a Viper pilot, not a soldier. I'm not a politician. I can't pick up a weapon and fight in this war. I'm a civilian. So I watch people. I _see_ people, the beauty that gets lost in the struggle to stay alive, the tender moments, the acts of random kindness or incredible bravery that we just don't have time to stop and stand in awe of because if we do, if we stop long enough to blink, the Cylons will catch up to us and it will all be gone.

"So I figure THAT'S my war, Admiral. To see the beauty, the bravery, the kindness … the very things that make us a race worth saving in the first place, and to write down and record as many of them as I possibly can. So that history remembers.

"And so that WE remember what it is we're fighting for. That's how _I_ fight in this war!" And after realizing that somewhere along the way I had raised my voice a little, I added a belated, "Sir."

A slow, stunning smile crept across his face and his voice, gruff and husky as old leather, seemed to be teeming with approval when he said, "That's exactly why you're here, Kris. Remember those ideals when you're in the company of Laura Roslin." He gestured to the hatch ahead. "Are you ready to meet the President?"

"As long as she's not standing at the controls of an airlock…" Gods, blurt, blurt blurt.

I'd seen Laura Roslin in pictures and on television and I knew she was pretty, so I expected that. What I didn't expect was for her to be take-your-breath-away beautiful. I also didn't expect to find her seated not at the desk in the room, but instead perched rather becomingly on the corner of it, her long legs crossed and draped over the front.

I watched the Admiral's eyes take the scenic route, starting at her high heeled shoes and dragging themselves up over her shapely legs and across her very girlish figure before finally landing on her face and meeting her eyes.

She shot him a beaming smile in return.

Hmm … interesting. I'd heard the rumors, of course. Who hadn't? Everyone gossiped about Adama and Roslin being hot for each other. In the great high school that was the Colonial Fleet, they were the Prom King and Queen – everybody was speculating about their private business. Personally, I'd always thought it was no one's business, but if they were going at it like cats in heat, good for them! The frakking world ended. Smoke 'em if ya got 'em, and all that. But standing here in a room with the two of them, the sexual tension was palpable.

I was half waiting for little balls of fire to erupt. Or for Adama to pounce on her right there on the desk. And to my own surprise, all I could think was _DAYUM! Just let me watch!_ Which was weird, even for me.

But I was pretty sure that wasn't why I was there.

Adama took my elbow and pulled me forward slightly as Roslin rose gracefully to her feet.

"Madame President, this is Kris Hill, formerly of Caprica. Kris Hill, President Laura Roslin."

She extended her hand and I was grateful when my own didn't tremble as I shook hers in greeting. "It's an honor, Madame President."

She smiled, professional but warm, at me as she made eye contact. "Thank you for coming, Ms. Hi-"

"Kris," Admiral Adama cut in. "Just call her Kris."

She raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"It's a thing," we both said and the Admiral shot me a wink.

Roslin gave us a look that clearly said _Are you both having a meltdown?_ But she simply smiled and said, "Well then thank you for coming, Kris. Can I offer you something to drink?" She gestured to a chair for me as she took the one behind her desk and began to pour glasses of ice water from a glass pitcher on a tray.

I supposed my immediate response of _You got anything from Captain Thrace's stash?_ was probably a bad idea so I simply accepted the water and said, "Thank you."

She glanced up at Adama. "Will you be joining us, Bill?"

I smiled before I could stop myself. It wasn't just that she'd called him Bill. It was the way it rolled off her tongue and slid off her lips like some intimate caress that made the moment so sexy I almost felt like a voyeur.

I say almost because voyeur implies an unwanted witness, and I was invited to this peep show. I found myself wondering if their feelings for each other were this obvious to everyone, because they had done nothing whatsoever unprofessional, they hadn't so much as come within touching distance of each other, or if it was just in plain sight for me because watching people is what I do.

"I have a couple things to check on," he said. "I'll catch up with you later." He smiled kindly at me. "Pleasure meeting you."

"The pleasure has been mine, Admiral." And I _meant_ that. Few men lived up to the legends that preceded them. Admiral William Adama was a beautifully rare exception to that rule and in the few moments I'd spent in his company I realized that I'd already come to believe that if anyone could save us, it was this man. I glanced at the President and adjusted that thought – it was this man and this woman, this _team_, because it only required a small minute in their presence to see that they were indeed a team.

Adama nodded briefly toward Roslin as he turned and left. "Madame President."

She nodded in reply and then turned her considerable gaze in my direction.

Suddenly there was no buffer, no distractions. It was just the President of the Twelve Colonies and ME. It was like all sound everywhere ceased and it was silent in the room. The President's big green eyes were staring -

RIGHT.

AT.

ME.

"Nope … that's not intimidating," I blurted. Because, as I said, I do that.

She laughed, and I fell instantly in love with the sound. She can be one scary bitch when she has to be, but never let it be said that Laura Roslin doesn't know how to laugh.

"Sorry," I said with a giggle of my own. "I tend to blurt when I'm nervous."

She smiled warmly. "Ah, blurting and I are old friends. But there's no need to be nervous. I have no intention of trying to intimidate you."

"You're under the impression that you have to try?" I blurted again and glanced pointedly at the armed Marine posted at the door.

She chuckled. "He's here for me, not for you."

"You mean, like, in case I try to stab you to death with my pen?"

The Marine stepped forward and Roslin held him off with a raised hand. "You really weren't joking about the blurting thing, were you?" she said with a wry smile.

_For the love of the Gods, someone shut me up!_ "No, Madame President, I wasn't. But for what it's worth, it only happens with people I either find very attractive, or have a great amount of respect for."

Her brow rose as she seemed to ponder my statement for a moment and then the second I saw the wicked grin play across her face I was already wishing I could suck the words back in.

Too late.

"And which am I?"

_Both, actually, which is hitting a big fat ten on my WTF-O-METER!_ But when I looked into her face, a face that had brought comfort and hope to so many of us during the darkest of times, I managed a much better, more heartfelt answer.

"The latter, of course. I respect you, not just for your office but as a woman and a human being as well. I voted for you because you're a strong and devoted leader. But I respect you because at the end of the day, even when we've all been forced into doing horrifying and ugly things in this terrible war, you're still able to look at your people and see what they need, even if it's as simple as a laugh from their President. And I think that's beautiful. I think you're beautiful, Madame President."

To my surprise there was a flood of shiny tears in Roslin's pretty eyes and she took a moment to remove her glasses and swallow them back before she spoke. I felt tears fill my own eyes at the slight quiver in her normally strong and resolute voice.

"I'm not sure how to properly thank you for that," she whispered, smiling warmly at me. And if it's possible to hug someone with your eyes, that's what happened next. Laura Roslin's expression was as warm and encompassing as any hug I've ever experienced.

"You just did," I whispered back.

"Well," she said, her voice clear and strong after taking a sip of her water and replacing her glasses, "I can see I made the right choice in asking you to come here."

"I'm sure there's some protocol for the way this meeting is supposed to go, but I guess my blurting has made me appear as if I don't have a professional bone in my entire body."

"On the contrary," she said, twirling a pencil between her fingers, "I find the lack of pomp and pageantry refreshing. And I did say this wasn't an official summons from the President, which is why we're not on Colonial One and you don't see my aide seated off to the side taking notes or handing me files. My request to meet with you was entirely a personal one. I realize you don't know me and therefore can't separate Laura Roslin from President Roslin, but I still hope you didn't come here today out of a sense of obligation."

I couldn't help but laugh. Did this woman own a mirror? She had an unmistakable air of authority about her that simply could not be denied. Not feel obligated? Hell, if she'd asked me to airlock my own mother I'd probably have done it and then saluted her! But I could see in her eyes that she was sincere. She really didn't want me to feel like my presence at this meeting was the result of an executive order.

"Let's just say you're not an easy person to say no to," I finally said.

Judging from the look on her face, this was not the answer she wanted. She removed her glasses, folded the frames in and tucked them rather attractively in the vee of her blouse, never breaking eye contact with me. "Tell that to the Quorum," she said with a sardonic smile, "I'm beginning to think that's their favorite word where I'm concerned."

I rolled my eyes at the thought of those windbags. "Blowholes! They just like to pontificate. It gives them the illusion that they matter." My eyes widened as I realized I'd just said that aloud. "There I go with the blurting again."

President Roslin laughed, a laugh that made her eyes sparkle. "Your blurting is not entirely without merit." She studied me for what felt like forever and I forced myself not to squirm. "Most people censor their thoughts around me. Measure and weigh their words carefully before they speak. Do you have any idea how tiresome that can be?"

I spent way too much time … _entertaining_ pilots who pretty much say whatever the frak they think to have any idea what that was like, but somehow I didn't think President Roslin needed to know that. "I can't imagine," I finally said.

"That's why this little get together is informal. No protocol, no official procedures…"

"You mean other than the search I got from your Marine that was so thorough he really should've bought me dinner first?"

She smiled again. "You see? Uncensored. I like that. And yes, I mean other than that."

"Pleased as I am that my Blurt-A-Thon is amusing you, and as much as I'm enjoying your company, Madame President, my own curiosity is going to eat me alive pretty soon. Of all the people in the fleet, why did you ask to meet with me?"

She looked at the Marine standing watch at the door. "Corporal, please wait outside."

The young man looked as surprised as I felt and he glanced briefly at the pen I was holding in my hand as if it really were a weapon before saying, "Ma'am?"

Roslin stood and folded her arms across her chest, then regarded my suddenly dangerous writing instrument with mild amusement. "If Kris promises not to stab me through the heart with her pen, would you and your rather large weapon wait outside the door?"

"He's holding, like, an UZI! And he's worried about my Bic Clicker?" I spouted.

Roslin's brows rose as she looked at me, and she said, "Shh!"

So I totally did!

She turned her _I'm in no mood for bullshit_ gaze on the poor Marine. "Corporal?"

"Of course, Madame President."

They both looked at me expectantly and this time my eyebrows rose. "You're serious?"

"You're the one who brought up stabbing me to death with your pen," she said, seeming to enjoy the whole thing that made me wonder if she was as twisted as me. "What? Don't you have a promise line in your blurt repertoire?"

"Better than the airlock, I guess," I muttered under my breath as I got to my feet.

"What?" Roslin asked sharply.

"Nothing!" Gulp. "Okay, I'd say I can't believe I'm doing this, but really … it's no more bizarre than the rest of my life so I should've expected it." I put my hand over my heart and cleared my throat. "I, Kris Hill, promise not to stab, slash, puncture, poke, jab, or otherwise assault President Roslin with my pen. I further promise not to write on her person, scribble on her desk, or draw horns on the photo of herself and Admiral Adama sitting on that stand over there."

The President seemed to be struggling to hold in a giggle, which I found highly amusing. "Good enough for you, Corporal?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he said, shooting me what was clearly a _Don't MAKE me come back in here_ look before heading out the door.

President Roslin sat back down and I followed her lead. "Okay … aside from a good dose of terminal embarrassment, I still have no idea what I'm doing here."

To my utter amazement she turned and picked up a small stack of books and set them on the desk between us. They were MY books. I felt the color drain from my face as the shock washed over me and my voice, when I finally found it, shook. "The President has read my work?"

"Don't look so stunned. Your stuff is quite popular."

I knew it was being read, but I had no idea it was THAT popular. "It's just something I do as an escape, Madame President. A way to step out of reality for a little while. I never imagined you'd be … "

"What?" She smiled warmly at me, her manicured finger lightly skimming the cover of my most recent book. "You don't think that the President needs to escape now and then just like everyone else?"

I was having trouble remembering to breathe. "It's not that, Ma'am. It's just … I never imagined you'd choose to do it with something I wrote. I'm … well, I'm overwhelmed to be honest."

"You look like you're going to fall out of your chair. Are you okay?"

I nodded stupidly. "I just can't believe you've read one of my books."

"I've read all of them, actually. Your articles, too."

I put my head between my knees. "That's not really helping the shock, Madame President."

She chuckled as she rose to her feet and came around the desk to lay a soft hand on my shoulder. "I said this is informal. Why don't you call me Laura?"

Yeah, that was SO not gonna happen. "You're gonna need to give me some time on that one, okay?"

She disappeared for a moment and returned with a glass of beautiful green liquid that I hadn't seen or smelled in a very long time. "Drink this. You'll feel better."

"Ambrosia!" I inhaled deeply, the scent taking me back with great longing to better times. "Gods, I haven't had Ambrosia for … well, forever." I took a sip and my head immediately began to spin. "I knew you folks on Galactica were holding out."

"That's just one of the perks when you're on a first name basis with the President," she practically purred. "You get the good stuff."

I laughed and looked up at her warm eyes. "A couple more glasses of this stuff and I'll call you whatever you want!"

"Good, because we have a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time to do it in."

Her tone had turned serious. Instead of going back behind the desk she sat in the chair right next to me. She pushed her long curls behind her shoulders and focused her gaze on me. I couldn't have looked away if the ship had been exploding around me, the moment was that intense.

"I'll just cut right to it. I'm dying," she said quietly.

I felt tears flood my eyes, but blinked them back out of respect. I wanted to hug her, but only did so with my eyes. "I know," I whispered, because I didn't trust my own voice. "I listened to Baltar's trial. What Apollo did … I'm so sorry."

She shook her head, and her beautiful dark hair tumbled around her shoulders. "No, I didn't ask you here to talk about that. It's about your books. Your characters. Not all of the stories are fiction, are they? You based some of the characters and their stories on real people, people you knew that died on Caprica. Am I right?"

Unsure where she was going with this, I gave a tentative, "Some of them, yes."

"It's your way of honoring their memories, their lives. Yes?"

I nodded. "But not all of my stuff is based on real people. I'm quite capable of spinning my own fiction."

"I have no doubt."

"I just think there are some lives, some people who leave such an extraordinary mark on the world around them that they shouldn't be forgotten."

She smiled beautifully, her bright eyes shining with emotion as she gently took my hand. "That's what I'm counting on."

Comprehension dawned and I suddenly wished for The Blurts to return because all I could mutter was, "Holy Gods … "

"Will you write my story, Kris?" She smiled, oozing charm that made me wonder how poor Adama ever denied her anything, and made a show of refilling my glass with Ambrosia. "I won't lie to you. It'll be quite an undertaking. Of course, you'll need to stay here on Galactica, find some way to amuse yourself when you're not with me – do you think you can do that?"

And I SWEAR she quirked a knowing eyebrow. Did she know I'd been to the pilot's racks a time or two? "I'm sure I'd manage."

"And I am fond of relaxing with a nice glass of Ambrosia, so there's that." She flashed me a wicked smile. "Of course, tensions are always running a little high on Galactica. I can't promise that you won't be searched again. In fact, I can almost promise that you will."

"Sweet talker."

"So," she said, removing her glasses and tucking them once again in her cleavage, "what do you say?"

Uhm … FRAK YES? Feeling a sweet Ambrosia buzz, my sass had returned. I waited until Madame President was taking a deep swig of her drink and then said, "Can I bunk with Colonel Tigh? We can play naughty wench and evil pirate."

Just as I'd hoped, her eyes widened with amused shock and as laughter forced its way up her throat she did a passable impression of a fountain. Ambrosia sprayed from her mouth and nose.

I giggled as I watched her wipe the shiny green drink off her face with far more dignity than should've been possible.

"That was payback for the having you searched comment, wasn't it?"

"Most definitely."

She nodded. "Noted. Now that you've seen me squirt alcohol through my nose, a most unpresidential thing to do, does that mean you've agreed to write my story?"

I smiled warmly at her, already very fond of her and we hadn't even begun. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Laura," she corrected.

My eyes widened. Not sure I could go that far just yet. "Madame President, I-"

"You what, Ms. Hill? You can't physically form the word Laura?"

Evil woman. "Call me Kris."

She folded her arms and smiled. "Call me Laura."

"I'm going to Hell," I murmured, then chugged the rest of my Ambrosia. "Okay, okay. I would be honored to write your story."

She stared at me expectantly.

"Laura," I finally added.

"Good," she said brightly, reaching for the phone. "Now we'll just see about getting you somewhere to stay." She flashed me a playfully smile and said into the handset, "Please get me Colonel Tigh…"


	2. Comfort Part 1

Author's Note: First of all, I want to thank everyone for the huge amount of support I've received for this story. My cup runneth over… seriously. I'll try to make the rest of it equally as enjoyable.

Just wanted to explain a couple things though. As the storyline on BSG gets darker and darker (and it's being done brilliantly, I'm not complaining) I find myself returning to earlier episodes and fanfic as I long for slightly better times. I say slightly because this show, by its nature, has always been dark.

While Mary McDonnell's performance has been nothing short of incredible in this season's episodes, I can't quite wrap my head around the fact that Laura's bald – OMGS, that hair is so beautiful! – and that we're truly watching her slowly die a little more with each episode. So, for those who've wondered why I put these meetings with myself and President Roslin beginning just after the conclusion of Baltar's trail – that's why. I need a little of the lighter, happier, trade mark long haired Laura Roslin. And if you're enjoying these stories, maybe you do too.

I know it'll eventually lead to me writing scenes with bald, very sick Laura – who is equally as beautiful. And that's okay, I can do that. I'm just not ready yet. Cuz then it's real (even though it's only a TV show).

Meeting Timeline: Crossroads Part 2-ish, beginning of season 4, sort of.

Comfort, Part One

After the glimpse of the President's delightful sense of humor I'd seen the day before, I really shouldn't have been surprised to see Colonel Tigh waiting to greet me when I arrived on Galactica. Could've been worse, I suppose. He could've had a parrot on his shoulder.

"If she's really got me bunking with you, one of us is SO riding the sofa," I mumbled.

"What?" Tigh groused, his mouth stuck in that perpetual frown he always seemed to be wearing. Clearly he wasn't in on the joke, thank the Gods.

"I'll need some help." I changed the subject, glancing at the tattered bags that served as my luggage. Life on the run is a real bitch on your travel wear. "You know, with my crap…"

Tigh eyed it distastefully. "Has it been searched?" he asked the soldier to my right.

"Yes, Colonel. Before it was loaded on the Raptor, sir."

"I was searched before I was loaded onto the Raptor, too," I volunteered cheerfully. "It was more intimate than my last date, so that was nice."

Perhaps Tigh had been forewarned of my blurt-o-rhea, because he just continued to stare at me with that frown. Which, unfortunately for everyone involved, only made me more nervous.

Hence, more babbling.

"Apparently, to your officers, I look like the kind of person who would stash some kind of weapon of mass destruction in her bra."

Colonel Tigh actually looked at my cleavage for a moment, seeming to consider the possibility, and then he simply turned to the snickering Marines behind me and said, "Grab her 'crap' and let's show her to her new luxury suite."

I followed into step behind him. "Hey, as long as it's not a cot in the latrine, I'm happy."

Tigh turned to look at me, the brow above his eye patch rising slightly. "I never said there was a cot."

And I swear, I SWEAR, for just a second before he turned away I saw those lips curve in a smile. The bastard could be cheeky. Who knew?

My temporary new home wasn't in the latrine but it smelled like one. It was small but not cramped, and since it was just off the Officer's Quarters, close enough that I could hear their boots thump on the deck plates if the hatch was slightly ajar, I decided I could live with it.

And that I'd probably be leaving my hatch ajar a lot.

I had started unpacking and was still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that Tigh actually had a personality, so when the black phone on my wall rang it startled me. Scared the shit out of me, to be more accurate, and I actually yelped and made a small, colorful satin explosion with all the undergarments I'd been about to stuff into a drawer. Bras and panties rained down from all over the place.

I stubbed my toe tripping over my own shoes in some weird spazoid ballet. So as I lifted the receiver I more fell and slammed the side of my face onto it the phone rather than answered it. "Frak!"

There was a brief pause on the other end. And absolute horrification on mine as I realized I'd cursed aloud into the phone.

"_The standard greeting on Galactica is usually 'Hello', but I realize you're new around here so I'll cut you some slack."_

Oh my Gods, no way! "Admiral Adama?" This could not be happening. Except it totally was.

"_Just wanted to see how you were settling in."_

"Oh, fine," I lied. Head slamming, fat lip quickly forming, and feet hopelessly tangled in my own bra straps, I tried desperately to drag myself to my feet. I scurried as though afraid the Admiral could see my disrespectful sprawl through the phone and finally managed to right myself.

And slammed the back of my head into the open cabinet door on my way up. It made a loud thwacking sound, like someone thumping a huge hollow melon. I saw stars and fireworks and little cartoon birdies…

"_What's all that slamming around? Sounds like you're fighting a battle in there."_

"Yeah," I snorted. "Attack of the killer undies."

"_What?"_

Lords of Kobol, shut me up. "Uhm … the blurting thing again. I'm sorry, sir. I'm a little …" I glanced at my room, which looked like a tornado had blown through it, "… out of sorts at the moment."

"_I understand. Unpacking can be brutal."_

I laughed out loud, rubbing the back of my head. "So I've heard."

"_Let me know if you need anything."_

I thanked him and then hung up, feeling slightly buzzed, though whether it was from the knock on the noggin or the personal phone call from the Admiral, I couldn't say. I was on my hands and knees scooping up underwear when someone knocked on the hatch.

"Come in."

I looked up to see Tory Foster stepping inside and looking as bedraggled as I felt. She looked like an unmade bed, and not in a sexy way.

"Your quarters kick the crap outta you too?" I blurted, arms filled with skibbies.

She wrinkled her nose at me like I was nuts, which I probably was. "What?"

"Nothing. Rough morning." I shoved the clothing into the drawer and slammed it shut before they could leap out and, I dunno, wrap themselves around my face and strangle me to death or something.

She waited patiently until I turned my full attention to her and then extended her hand. "I'm Tory Foster, I'm Presi-"

"I know who you are," I said, shaking her hand very briefly. And she knew me too if she just thought about it for a moment. Let's just say that I knew her when she was just Tory, before she was Aide to the President of the Twelve Colonies, and that we tended to … hunt … for lack of a better word for similar type of prey. And every unattached woman knows that there's only room for one hunter when the prey is scarce. I waited for recognition to hit her, and when it did her eyes took on a hard glint.

"I thought the name sounded familiar." She smirked at me in that bitchy way women do when they're trying to be smug and superior. "So I'm here to fetch you for your meeting with President Roslin."

I raised an eyebrow. "_Fetch_ me?" Like a DOG?

"The President's waiting…"

"Okay, just give me one second." I tried to ignore her eyes wandering over every inch of my new home as I attempted to tame my wild red hair and make myself presentable.

"There's a pair of panties on the floor," Tory said snidely, as though it would embarrass me.

"I know," I replied with a smile. "I make it a habit to always know where I leave my panties."

I followed a step behind Whory … er, Tory. Yeah, I'm catty like that. Meow. And while I was silently congratulating myself on not giving in to the very childish temptation to step on the back of her shiny black pump and give her a flat tire I lost track of where we were headed. So when we stopped outside Admiral Adama's quarters I was caught completely off guard.

"I'm meeting with the President here? In the Admiral's cabin?"

Tory turned to look at me. "Is there a problem?"

I felt a wicked grin crawl across my face before I could stop myself. "Hell no. It's just … when she said she was staying on Galactica, I didn't know she meant she was staying _here_." I couldn't help but chuckle appreciatively. "You go, Madame President!"

Tory rolled her huge eyes. "It isn't like that. Not that I'm surprised you'd immediately jump to that conclusion." Her tone was scathing. "Typical…"

"Oh, you wound me," I mocked.

She ignored the comment. "She's staying on Galactica while she undergoes treatment. For _cancer_. She's bunking here until safe and suitable guest quarters can be set up."

Well now don't I fell like a frakking asshole? "Oh," I said stupidly. "Well, that makes sense."

"Uh huh," she sneered, nodding at the armed guard to open the hatch.

We stepped inside and I couldn't help but inhale deeply and fill my lungs with the scent. The smell was so different than the rest of the ship. A mixture of soap, aftershave, alcohol and something distinctly … male. Like the man himself, it did not disappoint.

President Roslin was seated at the table, her glasses perched on her nose as she shuffled through papers in a folder and tapped a pen distractedly against her cheek. I don't think she even heard us enter the room.

She wore a burgundy silk shirt that buttoned delicately down the front and dark gray dress pants. A pair of black high heeled shoes sat neatly on the floor, her legs crossed elegantly, and one bare foot bounced as if tapping to music only she could hear. Her long hair tumbled down her back and around her shoulders and while she looked as lovely as before, I noticed she also looked pale and tired. Wiped out, I corrected when I looked at her eyes.

I recognized that look. A glass of water sat in front of her. Judging from the condensation dripping down the sides it looked untouched. She must be nauseated, I surmised. A piece of bandage tape held a small square of gauze in place just above her right wrist where I knew an IV must have recently been. I repressed a shudder at my own memories of poison pumping through my own veins and my body turning on me like a traitor. The doctors trying to find just the right balance – enough poison to kill the cancer without killing the patient, too.

I suddenly felt the weight of what I had been asked to do.

To tell the story of this extraordinary woman … it was both an honor and a rather onus challenge. One I hoped I was up to. I hoped I could find the words to do her justice.

"Madame President," I said in greeting, hoping my voice didn't show my rapidly shifting emotions.

She looked up from her paperwork and smiled at me as she removed her glasses. "Kris, good to see you. I thought we agreed you were going to call me Laura."

Somehow it didn't seem appropriate just then. I returned the smile. "I'm working on that one."

"Fair enough I suppose."

Tory apparently noticed the untouched water, too. "Can I get you some tea?" She didn't say it, but I heard the implied _with chamalla_.

"Not just yet," Roslin said. "I think anything that went down at this point would only make a reappearance."

_Been there_. "Sucking," I … ya know … blurted.

"What?" both Tory and Roslin chorused.

If I had a few cubits for every time I made a person exclaim WHAT? – Well, I'd have a lot of frakking cubits!

"A sucking candy, like maybe a mint, very helpful for the nausea," I explained.

"Hangovers tend to make people nauseated," Tory said snidely.

I shrugged. "If you say so." Bitch. "But I was referring to chemical nausea. For some reason sucking on a piece of hard candy helps."

President Roslin's eyes searched mine for a very intense moment. "You know, don't you? I mean personally." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "You're a survivor."

"Yes, Ma'am."

And she gave me that look again. The one that's as warm as a hug.

Apparently it bothered Tory, who cleared her throat somewhat obnoxiously. "You have just over an hour before your meeting with the Admiral, Madame President."

Roslin nodded and gestured for me to join her at the table, which I did. "I assume your accommodations are comfortable."

"Yes, thanks."

"And they're close enough that it will be easy for us to meet when I can fit it in?"

Tory answered for me before I could open my mouth. "They were arranged with exactly that in mind. Ms. Hill should be at your beckon call."

I raised a snotty eyebrow at Tory. "Delighted as I am to be the President's beck-n-call girl," and I noticed that Roslin grinned briefly, but Tory did not, "I was under the impression these meetings were going to be informal." I stabbed at Tory with a glare. "Will your aide be joining us now?"

"No, she has plenty of other work to do" Roslin said, her gaze shifting to Tory. "So I'll let you get to it. Thank you, Tory. You can go."

Tory looked a little huffy, like I'd just stolen her pinky-swear partner or something. But to her credit she excused herself in a dignified manner.

Roslin waited until the hatch closed behind her and then looked at me expectantly. "Something I should know?"

I shrugged. "Let's just say she's not a fan. She just came to my new quarters and fetched me. Like a dog." And of course, I blurt things. "Also, she pretty much thinks I'm a big ho bag."

She snorted. "I see." She eyed me carefully but there was humor in her expression. "Are you?"

I considered it. "No more than she is." Hardly a distinction, and I think Laura Roslin knew it.

She nodded. "Mmm."

"I hope that doesn't lessen your opinion of me, Madame President, because while I usually don't give a damn what people think about me I find I do care how you see me. But the truth is if I've learned anything since the day I watched Caprica be nuked from the viewport of a spaceship it's that life is 

fleeting, and human beings are here one moment and often gone the next. So if I need to take comfort in the arms of a man, find something beautiful and human in sharing a moment of intimacy with him, then I take it. If that makes me a slut, well then I guess I'm a slut. At least I'm honest."

She was quiet for a minute, obviously pondering my words. Finally she said, "Can I ask you something? Something very personal?"

I'd just told the woman I was a big sleeze bag. How much more personal could it possibly get? "Of course."

"Do you find it? The comfort, I mean. When you're in the arms of a man and you let yourself go, just let go and be together with another human being, do you truly find comfort? Even if it's only temporary?"

I had to have been reading the signs wrong because I was barely getting to know Laura Roslin, and I was sure there was no way she was letting me even peek into something so personal this early in our relationship. But I could've sworn she was looking for someone to tell her it was okay for her to take that comfort in Adama.

Or it was just me being a hopeless romantic. But I didn't think so.

"Sometimes," I answered honestly.

"And what makes the difference?" she pressed on. "Is it the man or the sex?"

I raised my eyebrows, wondering if she'd already been into the chamalla and if we were really having this conversation. "You are direct, aren't you?"

"I'm dying," she said wryly, "I don't have time to be polite."

Wow. Definitely direct. "Maybe. But I'm supposed to be interviewing you, not the other way around, remember?"

She smiled again, a smile that made me a little nervous. "Humor me. I just want to hear your take on love and comfort." Then she played the You're a Redhead card, which is so unfair, by the way. "Why? Are you afraid to tell me?"

"No," I said too quickly because I can't resist a challenge or a dare. And I think she knew it. "First of all, comfort is a state of mind like anything else. It doesn't matter how handsome the man is, or how good the sex is. If you can't get yourself in the right frame of mind then none of it matters. But if you can and it helps, and you're not hurting anybody, then what's the harm in taking it? It's fleeting at best so I take it where, when, and in whom I can."

"And that's why Tory dislikes you?"

I laughed. "Yes. It's slim pickings and I'm competition."

She folded her arms and studied me. "Of that I have no doubt. Well you know what they say. Love is war and all that."

I met her eyes carefully. "I'm sure you already know this one, but love and sex are two very different things. You don't necessarily have to have one to have the other. I don't know if you asked about this for personal reasons or if the freak show that is my life just amuses you. You certainly wouldn't be the first. But I will tell you this, Laura," I said, using her given name on purpose even though it still felt unnatural on my tongue, "if you've managed to find someone who can give you both – the love and the sex – and you believe there's even a chance you'll find some comfort in this person, you should take it. That's a precious and all too rare combination under the best of circumstances and as you pointed out, you don't have time to be polite."

The expression on her face grew so serious that I actually thought I could hear the hiss of an airlock in my near future and I wondered where in this huge cabin Adama stashed his alcohol. But when she finally spoke her voice was light and charming. "That was pretty smooth, Kris. You ever consider a career in politics?"

I couldn't stop myself from laughing. "No offense, Madame President, but never even for a second. I prefer to know who's screwing me."

And I was rewarded with the beautiful sound of her unrestrained laughter, which was infectious. "You're pretty direct yourself," she finally said.

"You asked," I said between giggles.

"True enough."

"As for Tory," I offered when we calmed down, "I promise you that I'll try my hardest not to scratch her eyeballs out. She looks like she's been ridden hard and put up wet as it is anyway." Blurt.

"I have to admit," she nodded thoughtfully, "Tory does seem distracted lately."

"Yeah, and she keeps humming some weird tune that's almost a song, but not quite. It's creepy."

"Maybe it gives her … comfort," Roslin said, humor lighting her eyes.

"Good," I returned, giggling. "More pilots for me then!"

"Don't be so certain," she volleyed. "Maybe I'll have you bring me one. A strapping, handsome young thing…"

And I swear to the Gods this time she waited for me to drink deep of my water.

"With rippling muscles and a big, bulging Viper of his own."

And there it went. Pffffftttt! I shot ice cold water out my nose and mouth with enough force to make my eyes run with tears and my lungs protest violently. My body jerked, an encore performance of my earlier spazoid ballet, as I fought between fits of giggles and coughs.

The hatch spun open and a wary Marine stepped in, gun at the ready, to find the President of the Twelve Colonies patting me gently but firmly on the back as I turned an interesting shade of purple. "Everything okay in here, Madame President?"

"Yes," she said calmly. "She's okay, she's just choking."

Apparently assured that President Roslin was safe, and completely unconcerned if I died right there at the table, the young soldier turned and closed the hatch behind him.

"Well," said Roslin coyly, "I guess he won't be invited to comfort you any time soon."

"Not helping," I gasped between giggles.


	3. Comfort Part 2

**Comfort Part 2**

Roslin resumed her seat at the table when I finally stopped gasping for air, apparently assured that she wouldn't have to perform CPR. "You gonna live?" she grinned.

Gonna live. Such a simple statement, isn't it?

And yet as I looked at the dying woman in front of me it spoke volumes and my heart constricted painfully in my chest. I'd already grown to love her in the short time I'd spent with her, extraordinary person that she clearly was, and it struck me for the first time that I'd be getting closer and closer to her as the interviews went on, only to lose her. To watch her slowly die much as I had watched my own sister slowly die when I was sixteen. Not of cancer, but the distinction seemed irrelevant at this point.

Loss is loss and you can't quantify pain. When it hurts it hurts.

But she didn't need that from me, I was sure. I'd been in a cheaper version of her shoes and knew how it felt to see your illness reflected in the faces of the people around you. I also knew the quiet joy of anonymity – the gaze of someone who didn't see your illness at all when they looked at you, but just saw the person. And I wanted so badly to give her that.

My expression and the sudden heavy silence in the room betrayed me, however.

"Relax, Kris," she said kindly as she patted my hand. "I'm not dying today."

I found it hard to speak around the lump that had grown in my throat. "I know. I'm sorry, Madame President. The last thing you need is another concerned face staring at you. I know that."

She stopped patting my hand and clasped it in her own. Her small hands were cold. "Yes, you seem to care about me. How very selfish of you to feel compassion for another human being."

I smiled at her through my unshed tears. "I know how it is, how it feels. The worried looks, the well-meaning stares … I know how it is to long for the people in your life to just see YOU when they look at you."

As if reading my mind she said, "You're afraid I'll see sympathy in your eyes."

I gave her hand a gentle squeeze and held her gaze. "Is that really what you see in my eyes?"

"No," she whispered immediately, "It's not. I see something very different. I see empathy. I see a deep and profound understanding that comes from suffering. I see knowledge, intimate knowledge, of that suffering and the pain it causes you to see someone else going through it. And while I appreciate your desire to provide me with an unaffected face in my day to day life, I think it's important for you to know that there are many kinds of comfort."

She gazed intently at me and I couldn't have looked away had my life depended on it. "You said yourself how fleeting comfort can be. Did you ever consider that perhaps I find your empathy, your understanding, comforting?"

Not for a second, but it made sense. "No. I'm far too masochistic to have looked at it that way," I said, offering her a wry and self-depreciating smile. "But if it comforts you, even a little, then I guess I'll stop trying to hide it." It clearly wasn't working anyway.

"That's all I'm asking," she said reasonably, patting my hand once more before she released it to finally take a sip of her water. "I mean, let's face the facts here. I'm about to spill my guts to you, tell you things that until now I haven't told anyone. Things that died on Caprica, things that are extremely un-presidential. You're going to know things about me that no one else knows, Kris, so I think a little emotion isn't entirely out of line."

Woah. Seriously? Suddenly blinking and breathing required extreme effort on my part.

"You look too stunned to speak." I managed to nod and she smiled triumphantly before she continued. "Forgive me if I'm being presumptuous, but I'm betting that's a first. Now, since you're already speechless I'll just get it all out of the way. We're going to be spending a lot of time together, you and I, and you're going to see a side of your President that most civilians would never be allowed to see. I plan to have you accompany me to some of my less classified meetings, observe some of my daily routine, even accompany me to some of those torture sessions Cottle calls cancer treatment."

She pulled some papers from a folder on the table. "Tory drew up a contract. I thought it was a bit much at first 

but she knows how to make an argument. If she'd had her way you'd have been required to sign something before even being allowed to speak to me so I consider it a compromise. It's basically a confidentiality contract. You can read it before signing, of course, but to sum up it says that you agree not to discuss what I share with you or what you observe when you're with me with anyone. It also says that I, or in my absence, Tory, reserve the right to approve the final manuscript once you complete it. This is an authorized biography, after all, and I want to know what it says before anyone else sees it."

She glanced up at me when I only continued to stare at her in shock. "Nod and let me know you're still with me."

I did, though it was really more of a wobble than a nod. My brain was still floating somewhere in the region of _You're going to know things about me that no one else knows_ … and even my blurts had abandoned me in my utter surprise. What the frak?

"And here's where it gets a little … interesting," she said.

"Because up until now it's been so very ordinary?" Ah, hello blurts.

She laughed. "You've regained the ability to speak. That's good; you had me worried there for a moment. And we both know that nothing about our current situation is ordinary."

"Touché," I managed.

"The things we're going to be discussing are highly personal," she paused until I met her eyes. "There are more records on my presidency that I know what to do with. I don't really need someone to write about President Roslin. It's the person I am beneath, the person I've nearly had to sacrifice for this Fleet, that I'm hoping to share with you. That's who I'm hoping you'll capture with your writing."

Understanding quickly set in. "That's why you want me to call you Laura…"

"Yes." She smiled wistfully. "Because I need you to see beyond President Roslin. I need you to see Laura."

"Oh, I see her," I said, laying an affectionate but respectful hand on her arm. "I see you, Laura. And I'm honored you've chosen me to do this." My voice cracked under the weight of her gaze and my own emotion. "Honored."

Her voice cracked too, but to her credit her grin was completely wicked. "Even if I won't let you bunk with Colonel Tigh?"

I laughed despite my tears. "_Because_ you won't let me bunk with Colonel Tigh."

"You know what else I see in your eyes?"

"What's that?" I asked as she passed me the contract.

"A strong need for a good drink," she said, rising from the table. She patted me lightly on the shoulder before moving to a tray in the corner of the room. "Ambrosia?"

"Gods, yes! I mean … please."

"No you don't," she chuckled. "You meant the first one. Can't say I blame you. If I were in your position I think I'd want a drink, too."

"If you were in my position," the blurts said, "you'd want a big fat joint from New Caprica – possibly that planet's only redeeming feature." My head snapped up and a hand flew too late to cover my big mouth as I realized I'd just told the President of the Twelve Colonies that she made me want to get stoned.

To my absolute shock, she merely quirked an eyebrow and said, "Play your cards right…"

Completely floored, I actually dropped my pen. "Okay, now you're just frakking with me."

She handed me a glass of Ambrosia and I noted with mild amusement that she must be feeling better as she had poured one for herself as well. "And why would I do that?"

I shrugged. "Entertainment value?"

Her wicked grin returned and mischief flashed in her eyes. "I'm bunking in Admiral Adama's personal cabin. Do you honestly think I can't come up with more imaginative ways to amuse myself when boredom sets in?"

I dropped my head back, laughing, and nearly fell out of my chair. "Oh, tell me you've found his skibbies drawer!"

She raised an eyebrow at me and folded her arms across her chest. "I'm not telling you anything until you sign that contract. That way if you rat me out I can execute you."

I tried to shove my eyeballs back into my face. "Well you're just wicked scary, Laura. I like that." I skimmed the rather lengthy contract. "If I sign this … we get to talk about New Caprican pot and the Admiral's boxers?"

She held her position, arms still neatly folded. "I guess you'll have to sign to find out, won't you?"

"Tease," I drawled. "It's, uh, detailed. Tory's very…"

"Thorough?" she supplied.

"I was going to say anal retentive, but you're the President." She snorted, an undignified sound that she somehow managed to make adorable. I signed with a flourish then pushed the paper back to her and drained my glass of Ambrosia. "Will that do, or will Tory demand I sign it in blood?"

"We'll see," she said casually as she slipped it back into the folder. "If she's not happy with you I'm sure you'll be the first to know."

Now I snorted. "Lucky me." I flashed her a conspiratorial grin, feeling the Ambrosia reddening my cheeks. "You gonna elaborate about the weed?" When she hesitated I added. "I just signed away part of my soul. My turn to be direct."

"I didn't know we were keeping score."

"We're not," I replied. "I'm just trying to guilt you into spilling something juicy."

She rested her chin in her hand and smiled. "You want to know if we're growing Grade A grass on Galactica."

I didn't bother denying it. I simply widened my eyes in anticipation of her response.

"It has certain … medicinal purposes," she drawled.

"Uh huh. And do you … self medicate?"

That actually drew a laugh. "Do you?" she volleyed.

I raised a brow at her. "I've indulged occasionally."

"Me too."

She giggled, and a memory fluttered unbidden to the surface of my mind. I remembered the first time I'd heard that giggle, though I didn't know at the time that it belonged to President Roslin. A ground breaking ceremony on New Caprica, the alien sun setting in the sky, and the shadows of two people sprawled out on sandbags a short distance away from the crowd.

I had wandered away from the group and the lights with my … comfort … firmly in tow, yearning for privacy and a good view of stars that twinkled again. I had missed that, I remembered vividly, the twinkling caused by the atmosphere. We'd seen them curled up together on the sandbags, though we didn't realize at the time who it was, and we'd heard her giggling. "Someone's having fun," he'd said as he'd nuzzled my ear.

"Let's go make our own fun," I'd replied, taking his hand and pulling him into the trees.

I looked up at Laura and couldn't stop the knowing smile that spread across my face. "You and the Admiral … I remember now."  


Her cheeks flushed ever so slightly but other than that she appeared completely unfazed. "You remember what?"

"We saw you."

Now she raised an eyebrow. "We?"

I almost blurted a name, but caught myself. "No one you know. A friend. We saw you and Admiral Adama. You were flopped out on the sandbag pile like a couple of teenagers."

Her grin was positively playful and I knew I was right, and that it was a cherished memory.

"And you were giggling like one."

"Yes," she grinned. "Guilty as charged."

I couldn't help but laugh as the realization fully hit me. "You were stoned. Both of you!"

"Out of our minds," she giggled. "Gods, I couldn't even move, my arms and legs were so heavy. It was delicious. And you?"

"Oh, completely," I laughed. "Well, at least until some asshole ruined my romantic night in the woods. Frakker kept screaming, 'I love Kara Thrace!'" I shook my head at the memory, tucking a stray lock of unruly hair behind my ear. "We kept yelling back, 'Tell someone who gives a shit,' but he just kept screaming so we left." I gave her a pointed look. "But not before I got my comfort…"

I let that last part hang there on purpose. And she knew it, of course.

Her face became unreadable. "Is this part of the interview?"

"You tell me."

She considered it for a moment, brushing her hair behind her shoulder as she thought about it. "I suppose I can hardly expect you to write about me personally if I can't tell you about who I am as a person, and I've come to accept the fact that Bill Adama is very much a part of who I am. So I guess the best thing to do is just be as honest with you as I can and then I'll have to trust you, won't I? You're the author, after all."

I swallowed loudly. "But no pressure."

That earned me a soft laugh. "Somehow, I have a feeling you can handle it."

"I appreciate your faith in me, Laura," I said honestly. Then I scooted slightly closer to her as I slid my chair up to the table and double checked my voice recorder. "Now dish."

"Well, judging by the gleam in your eyes I'm guessing you're in for a letdown, but here goes." She took a deep breath and I held mine. She focused her eyes on something on the table but her gaze turned inward as she spoke and her voice took on a tone that told me Laura was somewhere else entirely.

"I got comfort but not the kind you mean. I'd be willing to bet it was just as good though. As much as I came to despise New Caprica, I look back fondly and often on that particular day. Bill was there for the ceremony. I was no longer President and while he was still the Admiral it seemed the burdens of war had been lifted off his shoulders. At least temporarily, I mean I think we both knew deep down that the Cylons would find us eventually. But not that day.

"That day we felt a giddy kind of freedom we had never known together and it made us high long before we smoked anything. I actually found him sitting in the dirt with his boots off. He was barefoot, savoring the feeling of the ground between his toes. And the expression on his face when he first saw me … "

Her cheeks flushed pink at the memory and I realized I was breathing fast. Not wanting to break whatever spell she was under, I stayed quiet.

"He didn't even try to hide the desire, he was that unencumbered. He just let his eyes slowly roam across my 

body."

I smiled a little because I had seen him do that personally.

"Gods, I felt sixteen again!" she said, smiling wistfully, her gaze still focused on that far away place in her memory. "He was so charming. He said all the right things, did all the right things. I honestly couldn't remember a time before that day when I'd felt more desirable or beautiful. Or when I'd enjoyed just being with someone more."

She turned to look at me, her green eyes bright with the images in her mind. "We fell asleep there, you know? On the sandbags under the stars. He was a complete gentleman. He held me all night long; we were too stoned to do anything else. I mean, Gods, we're not 25 anymore. But it was still so sexy, so romantic. In fact it's one of the most romantic memories of my entire life. The feel of his arms around me, the smell of soap on his neck and the way his deep voice rumbled and tickled my ear when I rested my head on his chest. Or the way his fingers felt in my hair."

She closed her eyes for a moment and I wondered if she was still with me at all. "When I told him the cancer was back," she paused briefly as her voice hitched in her throat, "he held me then, too. He talked to me all night. Just let me lay there with my head on his chest, listening to the sound of his voice, holding my hair out of my face and soothing me while I cried. He listened without judgment while I talked about my fears, because I can do that with Bill. And he just … he just held on to me as if it would keep me here."

She looked at me then. "So how's that for comfort?"

For the second time that day, she had rendered me speechless.

"Kris … are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah," I stammered, "I … I just lost all blood flow to my head for a few minutes." She waited for me to compose myself and I finally said, "That's probably the most romantic thing I've ever heard in my life."

"Isn't it?"

I took another sip of my alcohol and really wished for a joint. And a man as romantic as Bill Adama apparently was. "So forgive me for being blunt here but I think we both know delicate is not really my thing. Are you two…"

"Are we what? Are we sleeping together?"

"Well, I was going to wait until we were sharing some of the Grade A weed you were talking about to ask that one. I was gonna ask if you're a couple, actually. But since you opened that door-"

"I didn't. I'm not ready to step through that door just yet. But I know half the Fleet is saying it since I'm staying here so I've been expecting you to ask me. As for whether or not we're a couple … I'm not sure how to answer that."

I shrugged casually. "Is there anyone else in your life?"

"No," she answered without hesitation.

"In his?"

"No," she said again.

"Seems pretty cut and dry to me."

She bit off a rueful laugh. "I wish it were that simple. But it's not like that day on New Caprica. I'm the President again, and he's the Admiral of a Fleet at war. We have responsibilities to the people."

I must have been staring at her pretty hard because she actually squirmed a little before saying, "What?"

"Frak the people," I finally said.

The look on her face was absolutely priceless. It was her turn to search for words.

"They have no idea how much you sacrifice for them every day. I'm sitting here with you right now and I'm realizing that I'm only beginning to see how much. And I'm not sure it's an amount I can live with. You don't owe us your personal happiness. And you definitely don't owe it to us to die alone, Madame President."

I heard her gasp softly at the directness of my words but she allowed me to continue.

"Take your comfort, whatever form it comes in. The people will be fine if they know their leaders are fine. You told me you don't have a lot of time left. Please don't spend it alone out of some misplaced sense of obligation to the people. You can have both, Laura. I really believe you can."

She blinked hard, pushing back tears, and I knew that was as far as she could go. So I did what any decent writer does. I gave her a creative way out.

"There will be some serious disappointment among the pilots, however. Are you aware that one of them has a blow up doll with a long brown wig and he calls it Laura?"

Her eyes bugged out of her head and her jaw fell open so hard I'm surprised her face didn't cave in.

I laughed so hard I was frakking' crying, but she just continued to stare at me with wide eyes. Uh oh. "Are you pissed?" I finally managed.

"Depends," she said evenly.

"On what?"

The edges of her mouth curled slightly as she tried to hide her smile. "Which pilot?"

_About 30 minutes and another glass of Ambrosia later…_

"So, now that I've signed a vow of secrecy upon threat of death, let's talk about Adama's underwear."

"What do you want to know?" The rumbling voice came from behind me. It was only then that I noticed Roslin's gaze was not on me, but on some point over my shoulder.

Once again, I felt the blood rush to my face as I blushed in embarrassment. I knocked my glass off the table as I scrambled to stand up. "Admiral! Where'd you come from? I mean…" I bent down to retrieve the glass and, because I'm me, managed to slam the back of my already sore head on the table on my way back up. "Frak me!" I cursed as the cartoon birdies circled my head.

To her credit Roslin had managed to snatch her glass from the table before my head collided with it and she now stood watching me with a look of concern and amusement on her face. But her silence told me she had no intention of bailing me out on the underwear thing. I was on my own on that one.

Adama, on the other hand, looked concerned for the well being of his furniture. As well he should.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Apart from a case of terminal Dipshit-itis and possible brain damage, I think I'm fine." He and Roslin shared an amused grin at my expense, but I figured I had it coming so I tried to pretend I didn't notice. "Sorry about the cussing."

He shook his head slightly. "I'm a military man. They haven't invented a word yet that can offend my ears. No worries." He glanced at President Roslin and I noticed his eyes twinkling with humor. "Now about the other thing …"

"Gods," I groaned quietly, suddenly wishing I'd hit my head hard enough to knock myself out because it would've been less painful than this conversation.

"If all you two have to write about is my choice of underwear this is going to be a very short, very boring book."

Roslin laughed, bless her heart, and finally bailed me out. "Well that comment was a little out of context. You didn't hear the whole conversation."

"Not sure I want to," he replied as he poured himself a glass of ice water.

"You really, really don't," I said, reaching for Roslin's glass of Ambrosia when she replaced it on the table. I ignored her look of entertained surprise as I drained the glass in one gulp. I figured she owed me one for leaving me hanging on the underwear comment for what felt like eternity.

"How'd you sneak in here so quietly, anyway?" she asked, returning her attention to Adama.

I noticed he smiled almost sweetly at her as he walked over to the table. "I've gotten pretty good at coming and going without making a lot of racket now that I have a roommate."

She graced him with a beautiful smile that I could only describe as affectionate. Oh yeah, there was definitely some serious sparks going off between them. And I no longer needed her to answer the sleeping together question. There was an excitement and sense of anticipation between them that made me think it hadn't turned completely physical yet. He clearly loved having her in his cabin, and she visibly glowed under his gaze. It still had that shiny and new polish to it despite the fact that they were obviously completely comfortable with each other. Total quagmire.

As they shared a glance my definition of romance was completely redefined. She was in her fifties and he had rounded sixty, technically speaking they could easily be my parents. But at that moment the heat in the room was palpable and they both simply oozed with sexy. He wasn't the war-hardened soldier and she most definitely wasn't a dying woman, ill from a treatment that's as harsh as the disease itself. He was handsome and bright-eyed as any young Viper jock in the Fleet. She was radiant and as beautiful as the women on the ship who were half her age. More so, actually, because she wore her life experience like a medal pinned to her chest, with dignity and elegance that eludes the arrogance of youth.

I realized then that I hadn't yet really even begun to live, and I had a lot to aspire to before I grew up.

"So how's the writing coming along?" Admiral Adama asked, snapping my attention back to the moment at hand.

"We're really just getting started," Laura said. "Getting through the formalities."

"Tory really loves the formalities," I grumbled, rubbing the back of my aching head absently.

"You look a little pale, Kris. Why don't you have a seat?" She said it in that tone that sounds like a question but is clearly more of a polite order from the President, so my body responded reflexively and I plopped my butt back on the chair.

"You hit your head pretty hard," Adama said.

"Yeah," I blurted aloud, "And not for the first time today either." When they both gave me questioning looks I just waved them off. "Never mind."

The Admiral stepped closer to me and looked carefully into my eyes. "Maybe we should take you to see Doc Cottle."

I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself. "And harsh my Ambrosia buzz? Hell no."

"You could have a concussion," Adama said, apparently trying to reason with me. Clearly he had never actually MET me … you know what I mean.

I giggled at my own thoughts, something I did often. President Roslin cast a worried glance in my general direction, which for some reason only made me giggle more.

"She's laughing, Bill."

"I can hear that, Laura."  


She shot him an annoyed glare. "I _mean_ it could be a sign of a concussion."

"It could also be a sign of intoxication. How much Ambrosia did you give her?"

"What am I? Unconscious?" I said, more than a little amused at their husband/wife style bickering but less than amused at being referred to in the third person when I was sitting right there.

I ticked my gaze to Roslin. "I'm not concussed." And to Adama. "Or intoxicated. Not completely anyway." Then I rubbed my aching head with the palm of my hand again. "I'm just … well, if you knew how often I hit my head you'd be laughing, too. If I went to see Cottle every time I get a lump on my very thick skull I would never leave Life Station. So if it's all the same to you, I'll skip the poke and prod, thank you both very much."

They just stared at me, so I filled the silence the way I usually do. I blurted things.

"Has anyone ever told you two that you sound like a married couple? You bicker like my parents."

Now they stared at each other which gave me a bizarre sense of satisfaction.

There was a pounding on the hatch, some muffled words exchanged, and then Tory appeared. "Time to go," she said to me disdainfully, like I was too stupid to walk back to my quarters by myself.

I stopped rubbing my head to point a finger at her. "Now see?" I … say it with me … blurted. "That's how you enter a room, Admiral. Loudly and in a way that disrupts everything so everyone knows you're there." _Hmm … maybe I am drunk._

Without taking her eyes off Adama, Roslin handed Tory the folder with the contract in it. "It's signed," she said.

"In pen?" Tory asked somewhat impatiently.

"No, in crayon," I snapped as I pushed past her. "Frakking vampire."

And I heard Laura giggling, comfortable in the Admiral's cabin and his company, as I stumbled my way out of the hatch to find my own comfort.


	4. A Different Kind of Lonliness

**A Different Kind of Lonely**

_That night, Joe's Bar ..._

Dressed in one of my more provocative outfits, I headed to Joe's Bar to grab myself a drink and a snuggle partner.

I hated to admit it, but I was lonely. Seeing the obvious affection between Adama and Roslin reminded me of just how alone I truly was. I vowed to myself as I pulled up a stool at the bar that I would find a way to bury those feelings in some booze and a pair of muscular arms before the night was through.

I downed my first shot and tried not to wince as it burned its way down my throat. Rubbing Alcohol would've tasted better. Music played softly in the background and a few people were dancing.

I watched Helo spin Athena around and was both disgusted and jealous of the way they laughed and made moon eyes at each other.

I'd known love like that once, had smiled just that way once. But the universe, being a cold and dark place, had been cruel. Not only had he been taken from me in the Cylon attack, but I'd lived.

It was an unspeakably painful thing, being left behind. I survived to mourn him, my Tim. And mourn him I did. Watching Helo pull Sharon into his arms and lift her off the floor in a bear hug – I grieved anew.

Tired of looking over my shoulder – only to see where I'd already been - I turned my back to the dancing and the laughter. I was determined to drown my melancholy.

Two shots later I was starting to feel buzzed, starting to forget my heartache and giggling like a moron at the lip Racetrack was giving Joe over the "rancid engine solvent" he was serving as liquor. She and I were rapidly becoming friends and I had to agree with her on the booze.

Speaking of assholes (Which we weren't – but really, can't you keep up? It's called a non sequitur.) I looked up just in time to see Apollo plop his VERY nicely shaped butt in the stool next to me.

He wore slacks and a dress shirt that was unbuttoned half way down his nicely defined chest, his tie pulled loose and hanging rather enticingly down his chest and abdomen. Like a trail to a hidden treasure. Not that I was looking.

He wasn't a handsome man.

Unless you had eyes.

Which I definitely did. But then he did that very unattractive thing he'd started doing. You know, that talking thing where he says pious, puffed up shit that makes ya want to slap the stupid outta him?

"Hey Joe," he said.

Okaaay, so that was neither pious nor puffed up, but at that point even the sound of his voice, a sound I normally enjoyed just to be clear, only reminded me of his tone as he'd gone after President Roslin on the stand.

_Please don't do this, please…_

Madame President, are you taking chamalla again? Perhaps mixed in your tea to mask the bitterness…

"Joe, hit me again," I said, shooting a quick glare in Apollo's direction. "I need something to mask _my_ bitterness."

Joe grinned at me in a way that made me feel naked and I crossed my arms over my chest, fighting the urge not to cringe and call him a pig. After all, I knew very well that the way I was dressed and all – I was clearly intent on 

getting attention. He hadn't paid me any disrespect. Besides, I had come here looking for … comfort … after all.

But not with Joe, people. Really, really not. For the record.

"Sure thing, Red," Joe winked, filling my glass. "On the house. I know it's not as smooth as Caprican Ambrosia but it's not too bad."

I chuckled softly. Clearly he thought my bitter remark was directed at the alcohol. Wondering if Apollo thought the same thing I shifted in my seat, crossing my legs and turning my body a little in his direction.

To my delighted surprise his eyes were traveling along the edge of my short black skirt, which had ridden up slightly when I folded one bare leg over the other, and took their time as they moved slowly down to my knee high Frak Me Boots and back up. Eventually they found their way to my face.

I smiled wickedly at him and he flashed me a schoolboy grin that was so handsome it made me entertain thoughts of just how I'd keep him from talking all night long. Those thoughts were followed almost immediately by feelings of guilt, obviously born out of my new and growing friendship with Laura Roslin.

I wondered briefly what she would think of my current behavior and if I'd ever have half the class and sophistication she seemed to carry with such ease. Maybe someday, but not tonight…

I quirked an eyebrow at Apollo, who was still looking at me and either wanted me to know it or didn't care if I did. I wasn't sure which.

"Major Adama," I said politely.

"It's … it's not Major anymore, actually," he answered, looking away and taking a big gulp of his drink.

My shrug said, _Whatever, you brought it on yourself_. Personally, I'd always thought he was a shadow of the great man he'd sprung from anyway. Not that I could say more for myself – isn't self-loathing fun?

"Okaaaay," I drawled, "_Minor_ Adama."

This comment drew a bitter laugh from his rather deliciously shaped lips. "If you wanna kick me while I'm down, I believe the line forms at the back of the bar."

"Well not if you're gonna cooperate and all. Takes the mystery out of it."

"Apparently it's the new sport. Very popular in the Fleet…"

"Awww," I said with a mock frown, "Is everyone being mean to the man who helped free a piece of garbage like Gaius Baltar? I don't believe it!"

His glare made me suddenly grateful he was no longer a pilot with huge weapons at his immediate disposal.

"Sorry," I said totally unapologetically. "I blurt things."

"I've noticed," he said with a laugh.

"He's laughing again," I said, tracing the rim of my glass with a fingernail and enjoying the way his eyes seemed unable to stop watching it. "Answer a question for me?"

He looked wary but nodded. "Shoot."

I looked around, alarmed. "Uhm … given the current climate of tension on this ship, and seeing as most people blame a lot of that tension on you and your friend, Romo Lampkin, I'm not sure you should be using a word as easily misconstrued as 'Shoot', if ya know what I mean." And the second it left my mouth I wanted to smack my face on the bar. _Blurting, my old friend…_

I realized belatedly that if he chose to take that as some kind of threat my ass would be spending the night in the brig. And I had other ideas about how and where my ass would be spending the night, thank you very much.

To my utter amazement he laughed. Not bitter or sarcastic laughter either, but the real thing. It lit up his face and his eyes and I was momentarily stricken once again by just exactly how handsome he truly was.

"Thanks for the tip," he grinned, raising his shot glass to toast mine. I complied and tinked my glass against his before draining it. "You had a question…"

"Yes." I noticed with no small amount of satisfaction that his gaze had once again fallen somewhere in the vicinity of my thighs. Not that I had much room to talk. I was enjoying the view myself. "As you so clearly pointed out, you're not a soldier anymore. So I was wondering if you still have the authority to throw me in the brig if I piss you off."

His eyes danced, apparently intrigued. "I'm not without powers," he drawled, shooting me a wink that nearly disarmed me completely. "But throwing people in the brig for making me angry is no longer one of them."

"Good," I said in a measured tone that I'd used to disarm a few people myself in the past. "Then I think I'm going to continue calling you Minor Adama."

"It's much kinder than what my wife called me," he said ruefully.

I swallowed a chuckle. Quiet little Dee could be quite pithy when she wanted to. Imagining her tearing into Apollo gave me a big fat happy.

I looked a little closer at him, the disheveled appearance, the tousled hair and the pain in his handsome eyes. My angry heart softened a little and to my own surprise, I wanted to hug him and tell him it would all be okay.

Except it wouldn't.

Even I knew that, as removed from their lives as I was. He'd crossed a line. With Roslin, with some of his friends, with his father and with Dee. His father would forgive him – that's what fathers do. In time, maybe Roslin would even forgive him, as would his friends. But his wife … well I could see in his face that it was over.

I touched his shoulder lightly and he met my eyes. "She kicked you out…" It wasn't a question so much as an offer of mercy – saying it so he didn't have to.

He nodded. "Like a bag of trash." He laughed bitterly. "Isn't that what you called Baltar? A bag of trash?"

"No, I believe I said piece of garbage. But you're not a sleaze like Baltar. You just gave up everything to defend him."

"Not much of a distinction."

I patted his shoulder and removed my hand. "I see we're moving on to the _Feel Sorry for Yourself_ portion of the evening." He looked at me sharply, eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm afraid you'll have to sing your sad little pity ditty solo, stud muffin. I sang mine already. And I came here to forget my sorrows." I scooped up my drink and climbed off the stool. "So if you'll excuse me, Minor Adama, but your harshing my buzz."

"Wait," he said, grabbing my elbow. "You're right. I came here for the same reason. Sit down and let me buy you a round." When I simply eyed him warily he added, "C'mon. Seems only fair I restore your buzz."

I sat back down but gently pulled my arm from his touch. "I'm not sure it's very ladylike to let a married man buy me a drink."

He laughed softly. "I'm not really married."

I grinned. "And I'm not much of a lady. Joe, bring on the rot gut."

Lee covered his glass with his hand. "Nah, let's have the good stuff. You've got a bottle of Ambrosia back there, right?"

Joe hesitated. "Once I crack it…"

Lee tossed some money on the bar. "So we'll take the whole bottle." When Joe stared skeptically at him, Lee raised his eyebrows. "I can get it somewhere else. I just figured you could use the cubits, but-"

Before Apollo could pull the money back Joe slapped a hand over it. "You only get the best at Joe's," he said, reaching under the counter to fetch the bottle.

I giggled. "I thought it was 'You only get what's left at Joe's'".

Ignoring my clever jibe, Joe looked at Lee. "You want to let the lady here do the honors?"

I shook my hair wantonly, letting it fall behind my shoulders and down my back. "I thought we just established that I'm not a lady."

When Lee nodded Joe handed me the bottle. "Oh, you're a wild thing, Red. No doubt about that. But you're lady. _Absolutely_." He drew out the last word as he looked me over carefully. He winked at me and walked away.

Lee laughed and waggled his eyebrows at me. "I think you've got a shot with Joe if you play your cards right."

I snorted. "I think YOU'VE got a shot with Joe if you play your cards right."

"Right," Lee returned, "what was I thinking? Joe's not good enough for you because he doesn't fly a Viper."

"Since you've clearly already had your ass thoroughly handed to you by one woman today, I'm gonna let that slide." I popped the cork and filled my glass. "But only because you're buying the good stuff."

I reached over to fill his glass and tried not to notice that our legs were now touching. Had he slid closer, or had I?

We worked diligently at finishing the bottle of Ambrosia, and we were doing a damn good job of it, too. The conversation flowed as easily as the alcohol. As we both became inebriated it took on a decidedly more flirty tone. And we were basically leaning on each other to keep from flopping out of our stools.

"I do believe you got me sloshed, Minor Adama," I giggled.

"That was the idea," he slurred, running a hand through his hair in such a way that made me wish it was my hand instead. All that dark, tousled hair …

"It's so thick it's just begging to be played with."

It was only when he laughed and shot me a cocky grin that I realized I'd said the words aloud. I'm sure I blushed, 

but my cheeks were so pink from the Ambrosia that I doubted he could see.

"You can tell that just from sitting by me?" he teased.

I rolled my eyes at him. "I was talking about your hair." Yep, blurt. "And could someone hand me a shovel, since I seem hell bent on digging myself a hole…"

Arrogant, he continued to smile at me. "It's okay. Really. You want to play with my hair. I think it's cute."

I pulled away from him, swaying slightly in my seat. "Not exactly what I said."

"Right," he nodded smugly. "You said it's begging to be played with." He filled my glass again, the last of the Ambrosia. "Not sure I can see you begging, though. For anything."

"And you never will."

"Well that's a shame," he said, watching me swirl the green liquid in my glass. "Could be fun."

I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Oh, come on. Admit it. It's crossed your mind while we've been sitting here. As much as you hate me right now, you're a little turned on by me, too."

"That's irritatingly presumptuous of you," I retorted, but didn't pull away when he leaned in closer to me.

"I call it like I see it."

I shook my head. "Never gonna happen."

"Never say never…"

"I'm not going to be your rebound frak, tempting as the thought may be. I prefer to be the one they remember with a dreamy smile on their face, not the one they regret in the morning."

"Fair enough," he said evenly. "How about a dance then? I'm pretty sure there's no frakking allowed on the dance floor. Not like I'm gonna take you out there and slip it to ya right here in the bar."

"Did you just say slip it to me?"

"Give you what the pilots call the Big O…"

Well that required a slap down. "Or, if you keep pounding drinks like that … it'll just be _The Big O Gee, is that it?_

"And if you keep pounding drinks like that, you won't even know the difference."

"Touché." I laughed sardonically. "But you don't even know my name. Contrary to what Joe likes to call me, my name's not Red."

"I know you're name. In fact, I'm not sure there's a pilot on this ship who doesn't know your name."

Ouch. I glared at him. "I think I'm insulted."

He shook his dark head. "Not at all. Not a disrespectful word has been said. In fact, the way I see it you keep them going sometimes, despite all the darkness."  


"Flatterer," I said with a grin.

"No, I mean it. You give them a place to go to get away from the hell they face every day. You give them comfort."

I choked on the last swallow of my drink and eyed him suspiciously. Did he really just say _comfort_?

"Have you been talking to Laura Roslin?"

Confusion washed over his face. "What?"

"Never mind."

"So what do ya say, Kris?" He stood and held out a hand. "One dance."

I'd have turned him down … but I still had a pulse. I mean, whatever he'd recently done – this was Lee ADAMA. He was hot simply because he's an Adama, not to mention the man is built like one of the Gods his call sign was named for. Sculpted, every last inch of him.

I took his hand and tried to ignore the arc of electricity that shot through my arm. "One dance," I agreed.

Lee led me to the dance floor and even though the song playing was upbeat enough to fast dance to, he pulled me into his arms and rested one hand firmly on the small of my back.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, using all of my discipline not to slip my hands into his hair, and allowed him to slowly turn us around the dance floor.

Intoxicated as I was, I gave myself over to the sensation for a little bit. The Ambrosia warm in my belly, the way Apollo smelled, the way his hard body felt beneath my hands … I let it take me away from this place, from this horror show that had become our daily lives. And then I caught sight of Helo and Athena. He was planting tender kisses in her hair and she rested her head against his broad chest, eyes closed, as if they were the only two people in the bar.

Lee was rubbing my back gently and, caught up in the swirl of sensation, I'd somehow allowed one hand to crawl up and tangle in the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

An action I'd seen Dee do a thousand times right here in this bar.

Reality hit me like a bucket of cold water in the face. It was one thing to cat around with the single guys, but Lee Adama wasn't single. He wouldn't even be single when his divorce with Dee was final. Because of Starbuck … the ghost of her still clung to him.

I'd never really minded being a booty call or a fling. I rather enjoyed it in my masochistic way. I mean, Gods forbid I ever let myself get close to anyone again, not if I could help it. But I'd never been the replacement girl, the warm body to fill in for someone else. Nor would I be … not even for Lee Adama.

Reluctantly I pulled away. "Lee…"

He kept his arms around me but it was like he read my thoughts. "Relax. It's okay, Kris. Dee closed that door for good."

"Maybe," I relented, "but I think we both know that if we don't stop now, this dance is going to lead somewhere else entirely."  


"Would that really be such a bad thing?" His hands slid slowly up my sides. "I'm not expecting you to fall in love with me."

I snorted. "Well thanks. You're just expecting me to fall into bed with you."

He smiled slightly. "Are you gonna tell me you haven't thought about it?"

"No," I admitted.

"Well I've thought about it, too. Before tonight I mean."

I ignored the heat that washed through me as he wrapped a strand of my hair around his finger, pulling gently on the curls. "You know … this is the Ambrosia talking. You'd never say these things if you were sober. It's too soon."

He shrugged. "So my inhibitions have been lifted. And given how fleeting life is now, it's never too soon. I'd still be flirting with you even if I were sober."

I pulled away again. "So find me _then_."

He laughed without mirth. "Right. So you can shoot me down while I'm stone cold sober."

"What makes you think I'd do that?"

"I can see it in your face." He ran his hands down my side and wrapped them around my waist again as he stared at me. "What makes me so different from the others? I mean … you've made it clear that sex isn't some kind of sacred thing to you. Given that humanity has nearly been wiped out I think most people feel that way, too."

"But not you."

He shrugged. "There was a time. But everything changed. I changed."

"Uh huh," I replied doubtfully. "Practically overnight you've changed your life long attitudes about sex and intimacy?"

He looked sad. "Our lives change with almost every breath we take. You know that. Mine changed when President Roslin assigned me to handle security for Baltar's trial."

At the mention of Laura and Baltar in the same sentence I sobered up a little, and suddenly Lee Adama became a lot easier to resist. "You really want to know what makes you different?"

He merely widened his eyes, waiting for an answer.

"You're hot, head to toe – and I really mean that. But even if you weren't still legally married to Dee … I wouldn't frak you if my life depended on it."

Rather than suffering wounded pride, Lee took my statement as some sort of challenge. I gathered quickly that, like me, Lee usually got what he wanted … or to be more accurate, WHO he wanted. "And what makes you say that?"

He tightened his grip around my waist and pulled me closer, almost to show he could. The tempting little shit.

I leaned into his embrace, let him watch as I slowly, provocatively licked my lips. I leaned in and breathed softly, seductively into his ear. When he shivered I smiled against his neck and whispered. "You got Gaius Baltar off, Lee. 

That means you'll never be getting me off."

And then I turned and walked away, leaving him standing on the makeshift dance floor alone looking very much like a pitiful puppy. And even though I went back to my cabin alone, I suddenly didn't feel so lonely.

A part of me still wanted him, though. Damn my hormones and his sexy smile. And I was sure he knew it.

_Way too frakking early the next day..._

The next morning when someone pounded on my hatch, like a nuke going off in my head with each knock, I slogged out of my rack and stumbled, my head in my hands, and jerked the door open.

Expecting to see Tory and realizing that I was sort of spoiling for a bit of bitch slapping, I didn't even look up as I snarled, "WHAT?! Stop pounding already. I'm not deaf!"

"Rough night?" came the soft voice of Laura Roslin. Naturally.

I looked over her shoulder quickly, half expecting to see Admiral Adama standing behind her because he always seemed to be lurking nearby when I made a fool of myself. President Roslin was alone however, except for her security detail – who seemed to be struggling not to laugh at me.

"Madame President." Gods. "Please to come in?"

She peered carefully into the room. "Are you … alone?"

"Just me and my hangover."

I silently congratulated myself on keeping my quarters clean as Roslin stepped in through the hatch. She glanced around briefly, probably trying to learn more about me by what she saw in my living space.

"You're always welcome here, of course," I said, still feeling a little drunk. "But did I miss a memo or something, because I thought I was meeting you in Admiral Adama's cabin in a few hours?"

She turned, hands clasped regally behind her back, to smile congenially at me. "You look like hell. Does your hair do that on its own? Or did you get so angry at some poor pilot last night that all the hair on your head turned into snakes?"

I looked in the mirror and groaned. She wasn't kidding. My hair was sticking up all over my head in ways that defied the laws of physics. And gravity, for that matter. My face was almost as green as the Ambrosia had been and my eyes were bloodshot.

"Wow, you weren't exaggerating. I really do look like hell."

She laughed softly. "Actually, I was being generous."

"I see that." I grabbed the brush and tried to smooth my wild tangles into a respectable ponytail, chagrined that she had to personally come and get me. Where was Whorey anyway? She probably hadn't crawled out from under whoever she'd spent the night with, I figured.

Takes one to know one. So I definitely know one.

"I'm sorry to make you wait," I said. "I'll just hurry and get dressed. I swear our meeting was later. I must've written it down wrong."

"No, you didn't. We're not scheduled to meet until this afternoon. Actually I'm the one that owes you an apology for the intrusion."

Baffled, I stared idiotically at her. She carried her power and authority so gracefully. "Really not necessary, especially since seeing my hair like that will probably drive you right into therapy … or nightmares."

Pronouncing my hair DOA, I gave up and let it hang down my back in a wild ponytail of unruly curls. It was an apocalypse – everybody looked like shit.

Well, not everybody, I amended as I took in Laura's immaculate appearance. President Roslin always looked like she'd just stepped out of a salon. I decided that's just who she is, and she'd probably look just as regal wearing a garbage bag.

That thought suddenly made me realize that I was wearing nothing but skivvies and a really baggy shirt that a recent male visitor had left in my room, and it hung immodestly a couple inches above my knees. I snagged a simple pullover dress from my wardrobe. "I'll … just go get dressed."

Laura grabbed my arm as I moved past her. "Wait," she commanded, even though I don't think she meant it as a command. "When I tell you why I'm here you might just want to crawl back into your rack and cover your head."

Ah, shit. Had she heard about my drunken groping with Apollo in the bar last night? She didn't seem angry, though. She seemed … anxious. I'd just been too mortified by my Medusa hair to notice.

I took a step closer to her. "Is everything okay? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, offering a reassuring smile. And then she grimaced. "But I'm on my way to see Doc Cottle. Time for a treatment, a particularly harsh one, or so he tells me."

I winced before I could school my expression. "So you're gonna feel like I look…"

"That's the rumor."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "Unless you created the cancer gene, it's really not your fault."

"Do you want to reschedule our meeting? Is there something I can do to help you?"

"As a matter of fact, there is." She leaned back on my bureau and folded her arms, her glasses neatly tucked in the vee of her blouse. "You could come with me."

All right … didn't see that one coming. Just – WHAM – like a pyramid ball to the head.

She mistook my shock for reluctance. "You aren't required to. I understand if-"

"No," I cut in; shaking my head, which made it hurt more. "It's not that. It was just unexpected. Of course I'll go with you. I'm your beck-n-call girl, remember?"

She once again clasped her hands behind her back and gave me a humble smile. "Thank you. I'll just wait outside while you get dressed and collect yourself."

"I'll be right out," I said to her back as she stepped out of the hatch. Holy Frak.

Panting, I found myself wondering how the hell Tory managed to keep up with Roslin when I was pretty sure it hurt the President's Aide to even walk straight most days (yes, I meant that in the completely insulting and bitchy way it sounded). I was working so hard to keep up with her long, apparently effortless strides that I almost missed Lee Adama coming toward us in the corridor.

It was the sudden stiffening of Madame President's spine that first caught my attention. She shot him an icy glare that made me wince.

"Madame President" He pinned me with a penetrating glance. "Kris…"

She was clearly surprised that he knew my name. "Hello," she said, her voice frosty as she peered at him through narrowed eyes.

"Minor Adama," I replied evenly, grinning slightly as he brushed past me.

He made sure his shoulder and arm came in contact with mine and flashed me a quick wink as he went by.

Laura calmly rounded the corner, out of his line of sight, before she stopped walking. She turned to stare at me with an expression that told me she was fairly bursting with curiosity. _"MINOR_ Adama?"

I giggled at the look on her face. "Yep."

She waited patiently for me to spill my guts. I was getting used to her strategic silences, however, so I held my ground and simply stared back at her.

"You gonna tell me? Or do I have to get one of these guards to beat it out of you?"

I had to concentrate to close my gaping mouth. "You just keep getting scarier."

She lifted her chin and smiled brightly. "And I haven't even broken a sweat yet."

"Noted," I said jokingly – sort of. "You're not above coercion and violence. Got it."

"Good. That should save us some time in the future."

"You know, with all due respect, Madame President-"

"Oh, for Gods sakes," she groaned, "why do people always begin with that when they're about to say something completely disrespectful?"

She had a point. And the power to airlock my ass. "All right, point to you. Then … with a complete lack of respect, tact or decorum, Madame President…" And I paused and looked at her for approval. When she smiled just a little I continued. "It occurs to me that while I signed a confidentiality contract, you did not. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, and I'm sure you will, but it seems like I'm answering as many questions as I'm asking. I guess I'm just a little curious … about why you're so curious."

She bit her lower lip between her teeth briefly as she seemed to be mulling it around in her head. "My life is a series of responsibilities and constraints. I have a lot of people to answer to, after all. But you – you're young and uninhibited. You have so much freedom. I'm sure if you just think about it for a moment you'll be able to see why that might appeal to me."

Okay, that made total sense. "Yes."

"There's also the natural human desire to share in your life since you're sharing in mine."

"True."

"I always have to behave myself, obviously. You, on the other hand, seem to thrive on misbehaving. Is it really so wrong if I live vicariously through you just a little bit?"

I couldn't help but grin at her. She was Laura Roslin, for frak sakes. And I was just … just some tart who really liked pilots. "It's a tiny bit twisted, yeah."

We both laughed, ignoring the stares of the passersby as our giggles echoed off Galactica's deck plating.

While we were camped out in Life Station, she lying on a gurney and me seated next to her bed with a cool washcloth and an emesis basin in my lap, I regaled her with the tale of my encounter with Lee Adama the night before.

Seemingly grateful for the distraction, she listened attentively. I'd thought she'd be angry with me for spending time with him considering how she felt about him at the moment, but if she felt betrayed at all it didn't show.

Amusement danced in her eyes as I described the rather vicious way I'd slapped him down.

"You actually said that?"

I straightened rather arrogantly in my chair. "I really did."

She laughed and her eyes grew wide. "What did he say?"

"I didn't give a chance to say anything," I said, waving the idea off with my hand. "I walked away and left him standing there. Right in the middle of the dance floor." I looked away; remembering the contours of his body pressed against me, and then looked back at Laura. "With a raging hard on."

"Oh my Gods!" she giggled. "And he was still a little flirtatious with you in the corridor today."

I handed her a glass of water to sip. "You noticed that, too?"

She puffed an exaggerated sigh. "Kris, everybody noticed that."

"Of course they did."

"So…" She quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at me. "What are you going to do?"

I smiled down at her mischievously. "Tease him until he snaps a nerve … naturally."

Her laughter turned quickly to a coughing fit … which led to nausea and gagging.

She turned a few interesting shades of green off and on and I helped her sit, supporting her with a hand on her back, while she vomited and dry heaved. I sensed that she'd be more comfortable if I didn't get emotional about it but rather dealt with it in a matter of fact way. So each time it happened I simply handed her the washcloth and emptied the basin, rinsing it out for the next round. I offered her water to rinse her mouth out frequently, occasionally mopping her hair off her forehead.

At one point, after Cottle insisted she stop fighting him and agree to, "take the damned Morpha like we mere mortals do" rather than suffer stubbornly through it, I watched with haunted memories as her body grew weary. Limbs and head heavy with that feeling of sinking through the bed. When her eyes closed and her breathing 

became slow and even I assumed she was asleep.

I relaxed into my chair, grateful that her suffering was at least lessened for the moment, and began quietly flipping through my notes.

I'd learned a lot about this woman since I came to stay on Galactica and I wondered about putting the pieces together, what order should they go in? Where should I begin this story?

When I looked back up at her she was peering at me through puffy eyes. "You stopped talking."

"I thought you were sleeping."

"Hmm … well now you know I'm not."

Cottle moved quietly to her side, syringe in hand, and began pushing a clear med into her IV. "For the nausea," he supplied when she glanced at him. "It won't stop it altogether, but it'll help."

"Thank you," I replied, giving the doc a small smile.

He nodded. "It's best if she stays calm. Maybe you should keep talking to her. Just not about…" and he grimaced, "Lee Adama's erection."

I gawked at him and blurted, "Frak! You _heard_ that?"

"I'm the doctor, Scarlett. I hear everything. So talk to her about something calming if you think you can manage it." And with that he was off, already tending to another patient.

Yapping was definitely within my list of skills, but she looked so tired. I wasn't sure what to do. But of course – she let me know exactly what she preferred.

"Tell me more," she rasped, "about you and your Minor Adama."

I laughed a little at that. "_My_ Minor Adama?"

She grinned slightly. "I'm pretty sure no one else could get away with calling him that."

"Oh, I don't know. He's pretty self-depreciating right now. He's ripe for a game of Kick the Dog."

"Are you going to keep kicking?" she asked, eyes closed.

"I'm not gonna sleep with him, if that's what you mean. Well, I'm pretty sure I'm not. But I am going to play with him for a bit … you know, like a cat and a ball of string."

She grinned again and opened her eyes. "And I take it that, in this scenario, you're the cat."

"Of course. Never be the string, Laura."

Despite how lousy she had to be feeling, a huge grin spread across her face and she looked at me with something akin to affection.

"What?" I said, giggling a little at her smile.

"I've spent considerable time imagining ways to punish Lee Adama ever since the trial. And I'll admit to you that I feel a small amount of disappointment that I can't carry any of them out. I've been known to hold a grudge."  


"I'm so very surprised."

"But it looks like Lee's going to get punished anyway. You're going to handle it for me."

I cracked up, unable to stop myself. She chuckled too. "I certainly will."

"Then may the Gods have mercy on his soul," she teased, closing her eyes once more. And this time, she did fall asleep.

When the treatment finally ended Cottle removed her IV and helped her sit upright. He pressed a cup of chamalla extract into her hand. "Drink this."

"But you already gave me Morpha…"

He glared at her just a little. "You a doctor now, too? Drink it, damn it. You're going to need it."

She downed the whole thing in one huge gulp and grimaced, holding a hand to her stomach. Trained professional by now, I shoved the emesis basin under her face.

"I'm fine," she said, gently pushing it away.

"No you're not," Cottle said. "But you can go if you're ready. Just don't blow chunks on my floor."

"So," Laura said, making a show of fluffing her hair despite the fact that it was flat as a board in the back. The curls that normally bounced around her face and shoulders hung limp and damp. "How do I look?"

"Like you've been dragged backwards through a knothole," Cottle said before I could lie to her.

Roslin simply stared at him with an amused look on her face. Clearly she was used to his gruffness and knew, just as I did, that while he might growl like a bear, Jack Cottle had a tender heart under all that grousing. He cared for every patient he treated, human or Cylon. And he had an obvious affection for President Roslin.

He patted her gently on the thigh. "You know the drill, young lady. No strenuous activity-"

"Guess we'll have to cancel the orgy," I blabbed.

"Mmm," Roslin agreed with a slight nod. "Shame. Diloxin makes me feel so sexy."

"Gives you that Frak Me glow," I giggled. Why is there never a nice black hole in the floor to suck you in and swallow you up when ya need one? To my relief, Laura was giggling, too. Clearly she was getting used to my blurting.

Cottle shot me a tired look. "If comedy hour is over I'd like to release my patient. I have other people in here who don't find being sick or wounded funny."

Chagrined, I became very busy studying my shoes.

"I mean it," Cottle nagged. "This was a big dose. You need to rest after a treatment like this – even more so than usual. A body can only take so much. I'd tell you no stress, but I'd be wasting my breath."

"And yet…" Laura added sarcastically.

The Doc turned to me. "Make sure she goes back to the Admiral's cabin and rests. No meetings, no interrogations, 

no alligator wrestling…"

My eyes widened and I pointed questioningly at myself. "You're telling _me_ this? Like I can make her do anything she doesn't want to do! You think I can control her?"

Laura laughed wickedly. She was either already feeling the chamalla or she was just plain evil, I wasn't sure which. "I'd reeeeally like to see her try."

I groaned. "Bad day…"

"You'll keep her mellow. You can do it."

I blinked at him. "If it were anyone else I'd agree with you. But THIS woman," and I pointed at Roslin dramatically, "has a signed contract allowing her to execute me. You think I haven't heard how fond she is of the airlock?"

Now Laura groaned. "One cylon … ONE … and suddenly I'm a whore for the airlock."

I laughed, as much at the look on Cottle's face as what Madame President had just said. "Oh yeah, she's doped out of her mind."

"All the more reason for you to get her back to Adama's cabin and keep her there," Cottle said.

"Enough," Roslin snapped, though she slurred just a little. "I have a meeting this afternoon with Tom Zarek, which I WILL be attending. And one with my author." She waggled an unsteady finger at me and smiled. "That would be you."

"Knew that one," I blurted.

"So I can handle my own schedule, thank you." She climbed indignantly to her feet, shaking off my hand as I reached to offer her support. "I don't need a babysitter."

She swayed slightly on the balls of her feet and this time she allowed me to take hold of her arm. "Right," I said, "you're ready to take on the whole Quorum."

I looked at Doc Cottle, my eyes huge and begging for mercy. "Maybe you should keep her here … or call Tory. Or maybe Admiral Adama."

"No," Laura said immediately. "Nobody's calling Bill ... the Admiral. And Tory will just fuss and drive me crazy."

"Just take her back to the cabin," Cottle told me. "Try to keep her calm, get her to rest. And make her reschedule that meeting."

I pulled Laura's bag onto my shoulder, surprised she was able to carry it, it was so heavy. "I'll try. But she's not going to listen to me."

"I'm not going to listen to her," Laura echoed in agreement, allowing me to lead her along by the arm.

"See?" I whined. "I just came here to write a frakking book. Don't you think you should get someone more … you know … important. I mean, she IS the President. I'm just a writer."

"We both know you're more than that, Scarlett. You'll handle her fine."

I quirked an eyebrow at him, hoping maybe he had me confused with someone else. Someone qualified to tend to a sick and stoned President – who was currently giggling against my shoulder. "Scarlett," she murmured, "that's 

funny."

I rolled my eyes and tried to ignore her. "My name is Kris," I said to the doctor.

Cottle looked offended. "Your name's Kris Hill. And your hair is scarlet red, so that's what I'm gonna call ya. Scarlett." He eyed me carefully. "I know your name, little missy. I know the name of every patient I've ever treated, and I've patched up your accident-prone hide more times than I have some of the marines and pilots. I also know your history and that's why I know you can handle this."

Okay then … that shut me up. High praise coming from Cottle, and I knew it. "I'll do my best," I said, grasping Laura a little tighter.

"You'll do better than that, Scarlett. That's Laura Roslin you're holding up. She may not be able to admit it now but she brought you with her today for a reason. She doesn't let 'just a writer' accompany her for cancer treatment." His eyes turned kind and so did his voice. "She knows you're a survivor?"

I nodded.

"_She_ is still capable of answering her own questions," Roslin interjected. "Yes, I know her history." She looked at me, eyes seeming to spin in different directions and pale as the sheets on my cot. "You know what you're doing because you've been here. And you're sworn to secrecy, which is a bonus given that I'm high as a kite." She giggled adorably. "So I'll try to listen but I don't have to like it."

"No," I said, remembering that horrible feeling of surrendering yourself into someone's care all too well. "You don't. Feel free to bitch, gripe, moan or even call me names. And I promise I won't take it personally."

"Deal," she nodded, bringing a hand to her mouth. "Now get me back to Bill's cabin before I hurl all over your shoes."

Cottle grinned as I led her past him. He handed me an emesis basin. "Travel bucket … just in case. I'll check in on you ladies in an hour or so. Holler if you need anything before then."

Laura groaned and covered her mouth again with her free hand, clearly fighting the urge to vomit.

"Bad day," I repeated. "Bad, bad day…"


End file.
